


Now it's her turn

by Taking3



Category: Elementary (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Drug Abuse, F/M, Heroin, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Mentions of HIV, Mentions of Rape, Platonic Soulmates, Scared Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-05-14 06:59:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5733976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taking3/pseuds/Taking3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joan doesn't show up for her family lunch. Sherlock and Marcus work to find her. Turns out Wiggins is good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing please give me tips and constructive crit.

“And I want them all taken down and the holes fixed before I come back” Joan's voice a bit more upset than normal. It was completely understandable that she'd be upset over having to go to dinner with her family. Ohren had just gotten a promotion and new suv that suggest that his little family of two might be turning into a family of three. Thus making Joan, the disappointment.

 

Not to mention the fact that she was also a little upset that he had set up a 1910’s style intercom throughout the brownstone to solve the “ yelling” complaints they received from the neighbors.

 

“It is the most efficient way to communicate throughout our home.” Sherlock's voice traveled from the basement to the metal stout that was jetting from the foryar wall.

 

“If you mean the most efficient way to hear everything everyone is doing at all times of the day threw out the house yes.” Joan stressed as she zipped up the back of her boot.

 

“ We are both adults and know what sounds to expect from the bathroom and late at night in the bedrooms, there is no need to be modest Watson we are but human.” Joan's teeth were clenched with aggravation. Sherlock round the corner of the stairway banister. seeing her face twisted with frustration quickly added.

 

“They will be taken down by the time you get home” he helped her put her jacket on as she headed out the door.

 

Joan was at the restaurant first. she was picking at the white tablecloth, waiting for her family to arrive when she received a text from Sherlock showing a pile of metal tubes and the message

“ **1fl dwn 2 2go”**

**“Thank you”** she replied, though thanking him for something he shouldn’t have done in the first place was probably a mistake

 

Before she could press the display button on her phone she received another text, this time from her mother.

“ **Where are you we are all at the Serafina on w 77th, what kind of pizza do you want?** ”

 

“ **I thought we agreed to go out for steak, I must have read it wrong I will meet you shortly** ” Of course they would change their minds and forget to inform her. Joan quickly left to catch the closest cab. Canceling the reservation on the way out.

  


Clyde has highly inadequate aim. Sherlock repositioned the tortoise with a small flashlight taped to its back so the light would hit the space in the ancient floorboards now he can see the screw that was causing him so much difficulty.

 

It had only been about an hour from when Joan left and he was only partly done with two floors. “I have estimated that it normally takes about three hours for joan to eat and talk with her family. two hours to eat and talk and 15min to take a long ride over to the gelato shop where she will spend 45 mins trying to unwind. then depending on if she takes -”*Bing*

 

Sherlock glared at clyde as though he was the perpetrator that made the offending noise interrupting his thought. A message from Mary Watson.

“ **Is joan not coming, we are waiting for her and she has not answered our calls?** ”

 

Sherlock called Joan's phone, It rang twice before a man answered.

“Hello?”

 

“Who is this?”

 

“My name is Noah I’m with the Westside steakhouse off a 10th ave. This phone was just found outside the door. If you know the owner could you have them come pick it up please.”

 

“Did anyone see the owner, she is short, dark hair, Asian, wearing boots and a jacket?”

 

“Ya know what yea there was a lady who was sitting here waiting but she left saying she made the wrong reservation. But now that I think the rest of her reservation showed up about 5 minutes after she left. they left already though, could you have one of them pick up the phone?”

 

“I will come get it.”

 

Sherlock hit end on his phone then placed Clyde, without a flashlight on him, back into his home.

 

      His heart skipped a beat.His hands were shaking from the memory of when his brother had come to visit last year and Joan had been kidnapped. Not knowing where she was and if he could help her. If she was safe. It was happening all over again.

 

“mmmmm” sherlock took a deep breath and let it out. dont overthink sherlock it only distracts.

 

He rushed outside and whistled for a cab. his anxiety was slowly creeping back up his chest. they pulled up to the steakhouse and Sherlock received the phone.

 

5 missed calls from Mary and a couple of text from Ohren.

**Where are you Joan mom’s getting impatient.**

**Hurry up we already ordered**

**Srsly Joan where are you I hate having dinner with just mom you need to be here**

**she won't stop talking about me starting a family**

**hlp me joan**

 

Sherlock smirked from the way Ohrens text sounded like he was being tourchered. He notice she had received one text from her mom. Stating she was at the wrong restaurant. Odd considering they ate here anyway. sherlock called Mary from his phone

“Hello? Sherlock, did you find out where Joan went?”

“Hello Mary, not yet, did you tell Joan that you were eating somewhere other than the steak house?

No I-”

Sherlock disconnected the call as he rushed back to the door man Noah. “I will need to see the footage from that camera there from the last two hours.” Sherlock pointed to the camera showing the entrance to the restaurant and most of the street out front.

 

“Sorry sir we need a warrant or a badge to hand over footage. “

 

“A young woman was taken from your restaurant and you want to play procedure?!”

 

“Sir I get paid eight dollars an hour and am looking to be promoted to pay off my student loan, yes I will always play procedures.”

 

Sherlock's brow twitched in frustration. He called up Bell saying to come at once.

 

“Sherlock, what's going on?” Bell had shown up in record time. He looks around for a sec before asking. “Wheres Joan?”

 

“That detective is why I have called you, I have reason to believe that Watson was taken from the front of this restaurant, “Sherlock's voice got expediently louder as he started to shout, “And that young baffoon will not pull the footage for me without your badge!” sherlock begun to bounce from heel to heel. Marcus had never seen Holmes so upset.The pale face, anxiety so high you could feel it, his body is physically unable to not stop moving

Bell showed his badge and asked for the footage before Sherlock vibrated into nonexistence. Noah brought them to the security room where they could watch the film.

 

While waiting for them to get the film pulled up Sherlock, now calmed down filled Bell in on what was happening.

 

“Sherlock she has only been missing for a few hours, maybe she had an emergency come up and left in a hurry?”

 

“What kind of emergency would she have where she did not receive a text or call and that didn't involve either me or her family? hmmm detective” He knows that detective Bell is just trying to help. But Bell doesn't know. He doesn't know about Watson's kidnapping, or how she was almost killed twice that night. How he wanted to kill his brother for putting her in the situation. How much it hurt that he couldn’t protect her.

 

“Ok here we go detective it's all yours” Noah left the room after passing Marcus the controls

 

“Ok here's Joan” Bell pointed her out in the video as she is texting

 

“Great, thank you I would never had known without your keen detective eyes.” Sherlock worked his jaw.

 

“Listen I know you’re upset, but I am just trying to help so a little less sarcasm would be appreciated” Marcus raised his eyebrows at Sherlock. They both watched as she gets up and speaks to the doorman before stepping out. In the reflection of the glass of the door there is a faint black town car and two men that step out. they are out of frame but you can see Joan take a step back dropping her hand bag. One of the men swoop it up as her phone drops out.

 

His eyes dart around the monitor as he takes the controls from Bell and slows the video down several times and is adjusting the zoom. His mind absorbing everything in the screen. The man's hand that grabs her purse is marked. There is a slight discoloration on the ends of his phalanges. The man is wearing a sports jacket but not a full suit. On his feet are old construction boots. If only that blasted bar wasn’t on the door he would have been able to see the kidnappers face as he bent down to pick up the purse. He took in the gate of Joan stance. She was taken by surprise, she is not even in a defensive stand.  If only he had gone with Watson when she had offered for him to join them. If he could just find a clue something anything to get to Joan. She is out there, albeit well versed in self defence but still two large men most likely armed against shorty mcfightback.

 

Marcus placed his hand on Sherlock's shoulder causing him to jump. “What.” Sherlock shot at him. Still focused on the film. Oddly out of breath.

  
“Sherlock you were hyperventilating. Listen maybe you should go home and I will check the street cams to see if we can get any footage of what happened” Bell took the controls from Sherlock , searching his face for an agreement.

 

“I suppose I have other calls to make, thank you detective” He noticed his heart rate was irregularly fast. He wiped some sweat from his forehead and headed for the door, making sure he pocketed Joan’s phone before ducking out.

 

Back at the brownstone he popped online hoping that everyone is willing to help. Last time he asked for help they made him dress as the little mermaid and sit on a rock at the top of Bear Mountain and let people splash cups of water at him. Embarrassment of that kind is no problem, in all honesty for Joan he would be willing to do anything even run around town in the buff.

 

The request was being discussed in a chat room with three members. one named ZeroCool posted that they will source the number that the text from Watson's mom really came from. The catch was that he must compose a rap song to the beat of a mr Jon and the eastside boyz “Get low” only using lines from Dr. Suess books.

**ShrlckHlms: Deal**

 

Halfway threw his second take of the recording of what he titled Lorax and the Sneetches on Beaches oh the places you’ll get low. There is a ping at the computer. The number that was used to send the text was actually from a computer located at a verizon store in queens

 

“Both Watson and I have a plethora of enemies out there” he was in the kitchen looking at newspapers for any mention of a black town car while addressing Clyde “But who would take just Watson, and why.”  Clyde had begun to scoot off the table when Sherlock picked him up and brought him to eye level. Now nose to nose “ What would Watson have that these people would want? Do they know who we are or are they just kidnappers? or are they trying to get to me?” Clyde had receded back into his shell. “Same” Sherlock said as he set the tortoise back in his terrain.

 

4am. Waiting. pacing. waiting. checking his phone. waiting. picking at the wallpaper. waiting. move to the next room. Lock room.pacing. Striping down to just chinos . Looking over footage. waiting. doing push ups. pacing. Recaffinate. pacing urination. Squats. Waiting.4:07 am. Damnit.

 

There were stills from the footage that they had gone over before but there was nothing to see there. Detective Bell had sent over footage of the car going into a tunnel but the car never left. It was found abandoned next to the emergency exit. He had a squad going down there but they both thought it best for sherlock to stay home just in case someone tries to contact him for a ransom or something of the sort.

 

Mycroft was right. He was rubbing the back of his neck with his hands. She is the person he love the most. She was there for him. After Irene, well Moriarty. She was there after Alistair. She was there when his Best friend other than her Alfredo had be kidnaped. But she was there for his relapse. She seen him fall, his demons, all his self doubt. And helped him back up. But most importantly she stuck around.

 

Rearranging the library should take up enough time for Bell to restup and come back to the precinct.

 

He has taken apart all of marcus’s metal mind puzzles that were sitting on his desk as well as finished his whole sudoku book and broke into vacationing Gregson's office. Borde. Anxious. Worried. stressed. you know what would stop all these feelings. Heroin. just a hit. smooth simple small shot. Sherlock had his sleeve turned up.eyes fixed at his veins. rubbing his thumb over old track marks. What would Watson say. Maybe if she were still his sober companion she would take him to a meeting immediately. But Joan, his Watson she would grab his arms, slowly. Look him in the eyes and tell him that she doesn't want him to, that he is a better person now and would not want to throw his sobriety away because of her.

 

“Sherlock, you doin ok?” Marcus tone was light. Sherlock's relapse was difficult on him. His brothers friends were often drug addicts and would be violent towards him when they were strung out. They always creeped him out. But to see his friend in that state.

 

“Yes, fine.” he rolled his sleeve back down and cleared his throat. “I have tracked where the misleading text came from and wanted to see if you would like to join”

 

They show up at the verizon and Marcus’s squad takes over the computers. Sherlock takes a look at the staff as they are being question. most 20 something year olds almost all holding a coffee. one man stuck out.

 

“Hello there,” Sherlock squinted to read his name tag “Byron”

 

“Hi sir sorry we aren't taking any customers at this time but the online verizon help is still available and there is another verizon two blocks down if it is an emergency.”

 

“I'm not interested in your mobiles Byron, I’m interested in the fact that you seem to be wearing long sleeve shirt when it is 95 degrees outside. Its also very interesting that you are shivering, as if you were cold but you are sweating like you should be. You are freshly showered but smell of  toilet, tell me Byron when was the last time you shot up?” before Byron could respond Sherlock grabbed his arm and yanked up the sleeve.

 

“Sherlock?! What are you doing, I know you're stressed but you can't assault random people!” Bell pulled Sherlock off of Byron.

 

“No look, look at his boots. Look at his fingertips. Ask to see his jacket and you will surely recognize it as well he is the man who took Watson.” Sherlock was swaying from foot to foot. tapping out the tempo to fella from fortune. Marcus could have sworn that Sherlock was making a quiet clicking sound with his mouth.

 

“Byron could you please show me your coat” Bell made sure Sherlock was behind him. Byron reached behind the desk and pulled out an old sports coat.

 

“I’m going to have to ask you to come down to the precinct with us we have a few questions for you.”

 

Sherlock stood on the other side of the mirror watching Byron's movements, looking for lies. To make sure there would be no lawsuits Bell instructed Sherlock to stay in that room till the interview was over.

 

“Well we have a confession that he was the person who sent the text, but he was at work during the time of the abduction.” Bell peeked up from his notes to see if Sherlock was following. “He said that he was paid to send that message then told to wear the boots and jacket. Said the guy who payed him to do so looked like a bum, and that he hasn’t seen him after he got paid yesterday.”

 

Sherlock’s gaze had not left Byron during the whole of the interview and during the view over with Marcus. “Thank you detective, but it sounds like we are at a dead end.”

 

“we’ll find her Sherlock” Marcus spoke softly.

 

Sherlock, still staring at Byron nodded. When he turned his head to leave Marcus noticed tears in Sherlock's eyes.

 

It had been six more days without any word from Joan or any new leads. Sherlock has been sent home from the precinct everyday for causing problems.He enlisted everyone of his associates to help find her, from Hudson to the NSA. Though some were more willing to help than others. He went as far as to even ask his father for help. He often found himself sitting in Watson’s room on her bed. Pressing his tear soaked face into her pillow. Clyde has been a good outlet for his ramblings that seem to have grown shorter and quieter with each passing day without his Watson.

 

Marcus has been showing up at the brownstone every other night to go through the case over and over with Sherlock as well as making sure he eats and at least changes clothes. He also asked Alfredo to go on days he could not. Marry has tried to stop by but Sherlock would not unlock or answer the door.

 

Sherlock has started to go over old case files to see if there would be anyone that wasn't put away that would want to take out vengeance on Watson. But no one dare mess with her not after what Moriarty did to the last person to mess with her.

 

There was a small knock at the door, Sherlock rushed over and peered through the peephole. He could only see the top of a small hat.

 

“Who is it?” sherlock shouted through the door, wiping his face clean.

“Wiggins sent me.” the voice was small, probably belong to someone of about the age of ten.

 

Sherlock opened the door and the young girl handed him an envelope that contained an sd card and a letter.Sherlock gave her a few dollars for her time and rushed to a computer where he entered the sd card.

 

_Dear Mr. Holmes_

 

_I think I may have found your friend. But it was hard for me to be sure. What with the state she looked to be in. I took a couple of pictures with my phone and pocketed the sd card before these two guys jumped me. they smashed my phone other wise I would have texted them to you. I took these over by fresh creek park._

 

_Wiggins_

 

The pictures showed of a dirty man with army boots trench coat and his arm in a sling along with stitches going up the side of his swollen face. He had his arm around an equally dirty shorter person. they were wearing an old beat up hoodie that was about three times to big for them and old baggy cargo pants. their shoes also seem to be too large for their tiny owner. The short person's hair was matted and sweat made it stick to their face so it was to hard to see the details. But those cheekbones could be recognized anywhere. That dirty bum was his Watson.

 

His heart pounded with fury as he raced to get his shoes on. He started to call detective Bell when there was another knock at the door. though this knock was just one hard loud clack as though whomever was the perpetrator of the knock had thrown a rock at the door instead of using their fist.

 

Sherlock yanked the door opened to have Watson slumped over on his stoop. Along with the thick stench of heroin.

  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She is home now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> batman (ˈbætmən)  
> n, pl -men  
> (Military) an officer's personal servant in any of the armed forces. Servant/ orderly

“Joan!”  Sherlock threw himself on the ground and leaned her back onto his torso. “Joan, can you hear me, please  Watson don’t.” his eyes tearing up again. He tilted her head back frantically wiping her matted mud riddled hair out of her face. Her eyes were half shut he could only see the whites. Soot and trails of vomit covered her mouth and cheeks. He double tapped the side of her face, no response. He smacked her just a little bit harder and pressed his ear to her chest.” Come on, you have to be ok, for me  Watson please.” His voice was quiet and shaking.

 

“grrrrrr…….grrrrrrr.kkkkkcccrrr” Joan’s breathing, though it sounded like an angry  bear motor, she is at least breathing. 

 

Sherlock began to lay her down in the recovery position when the  bear motor stopped. “ Damnit  Watson stay with me I need you to wake up, please  Joan .”  Sherlock took the palm of his hand and placed it on her sternum. He pressed and started to rub up and down. “Joan,  Joan stay with me, come on wake up” 

 

There were countless times that  Sherlock has woken up to some other junkie “come on man, get up. Don’t die here man. I don’t have a phone for the ambulance get up” Or that he's found himself getting pumped full of air by some addict with a cold rag on his head and an ice pack down his pants. The process of reviving someone was just as familiar. He's saved at least twenty lives. Though he was always the kind to make sure they were breathing, put them in the recovery position and call 911 then run off. But this time it's different, this time he cares.

 

He pulled her flat on the ground and started cpr. Tilt the head back, remember the stupid song. He crossed his hands and placed them on her chest, one two three four. He plugged her nose and breathed as deep as he could before forcing all of his air into her lungs,  stayin alive. another deep breath  stayin alive. one two three four. Stayin alive  Stayin alive. “Grrrrr grrrkkk grrr..kkkk” the  bear motor is back!

 

Sherlock grabbed his phone and quickly dialled 911 sent for an ambulance to the brownstone. He called Detective bell and threw the call on speaker.

“I’ve got her, she’s here”

“Oh my god  Sherlock that great is she okay”

“No, I’ve called an ambulance. She’s overdosed”

“I’m on my way what did she take?”Marcus could hear him shuffle the phone around and some clothing being ruffled.

“Joan,  Joan wake up. Can you hear me? I have reason to uh believe that she didn’t take anything but someone deliberately forced heroin into her um system, I..I... I can't be sure but she reeks of it”  Sherlock ’s voice shook with every word. 

 

Marcus griped the steering wheel tighter.“ Hey I’m right up the street I can get her to the hospital faster do you think it's best to wait for the ambulance or for me to drive? Sherlock? Are you there? Sherlock!?”  Marcus pulled up infront of the brownstone  Sherlock was leaning over what appeared to be a homeless man performing cpr. Sherlock pressed his head against the person's chest before looking up at him

 

“She's breathing again, if you would,run upstairs and grab some of her clothing and meet us at the hospital please.” The sirens from the ambulance were getting louder as they approached. Sherlocks face was red with tears and a small amount of snot running down his face as he held  Joan 's head. He nodded and ran into the the brownstone.

 

Marcus has been to the brownstone plenty of times. He had even been in  Joan 's room a few times, only to grab a book or her jacket but every time he's ever been there her room is always pristine, almost bare. Never many personal effects there. But her bed is always made, with a crisp duvet and a down blanket. But when he got to  Joan 's room her bed has been slept in. Sherlock wouldn’t do that, would he. It's one of his rules right his boundary rules. Grant it  Sherlock is one to cross boundaries but not the boundary of personal space. Never the boundary of personal space of someone he respected. He noticed that some of  Sherlock 's clothes were in the corner, a dirty t-shirt with a slice of pizza and an illuminati eye on the end of it. He grabbed that along with a pair of sweats, a hoodie, and some underclothes for  Joan along with her phone.

 

The EMTs had  Joan on a stretcher as they loaded her into the back. Sherlock hopped in with them holding her hand as they drove off. She looked so small on that stretcher. While the EMT put a heart monitor clip on her and began to fill out some paperwork,  Sherlock began to roll up  Joan 's sleeve, he just needed to check just to see if he was right. Dried clumps of dirt and vomit from her hoodie fell onto the immaculate floor. Her arm had dry trails of blood and refuse juices. The blood trails led to reveal an injection spot. There were several spots almost mirroring his old marks. His breathing was still fast as he closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against her arm. He turned his head to the side and tapped his fingers on her hand as he normally would on his thigh. He noticed a few lumps in the pocket of her grunge jeans. He gently reached in and pulled out a wooden box about the size of a womans wallet. He shoved it into his pocket as his eyes began to tear up again. 

 

The EMT returned her attention to  Sherlock .

“Do you know what she was given and how much?”

“No she was left at our door step this way. I think it's heroin. She has never taken it before.”

“Does she normally take any kinds of drugs?”

“Not to get high, no narcotics. She not an addict. But she takes the normal ibuprofen.”

“Are you aware of any medical conditions that she has or allergens?”

“No, she's a runner. She rarely eats anything that's not healthy. She's hadn't shown any signs of depression or any personality changes.”

They arrive at the hospital and are rushed through the ER doors her gurney is pushed to the far corner of the room where she is placed behind a curtain and  Sherlock is told to go wait in the other room.

 

He knows the procedure. He had lived it several times before. First they make sure you’re breathing then they inject you with something that makes you wake up and they try to flush your system out then discharge you. That was the easy part. He slumped down in his chair and wiped his face off with his sleeve. Then the withdrawals.

 

“Sherlock!  Sherlock is she ok is she breathing?”  Detective  Bell rushed to  Sherlock grabbing a box of Kleenex from the counter and offering it to him. Sherlocks face was still red his eyes were puffy from crying his shirt was partially unbuttoned with the sleeves damp with tears and snot. He thought seeing  Sherlock high was rough, but seeing him scared, worried, human. It was almost like this  Sherlock was a completely different person. 

 

He accepted the box and blew his nose. After taking a minute to regulate his breathing he looked up at  Bell . He took another tissue and wiped his face and some of his sleeve.

“She should be fine. She was breathing all on her own the way here. They should be calling us in there in a few. I told them the situation and asked for her to be placed in her own room.” He took a deep breath and pushed his palms into his eyes. “ Could you,” He paused moving his distant gaze to  Bell 's eyes. Focusing. “ Could you ask them to run a rape kit on her?” 

 

“Yeah, no problem, here I thought you might need one.” Bell reached into the bag he was carrying and handed  sherlock his  grey shirt. Sherlock accepted the shirt and much to  Marcus surprise striped right there and put the shirt on. He knew that  Sherlock had tattoos, but he had not seen his shoulder or back. Sherlock crumpled up his button up and took the bag of clothes from  Bell .

 

“I'm going to go ask for that to be done and grab some coffees, I’ll also call her family and tell them what's going on.I’ll text you what room they place her in after they run the kit.”  Bell cleared his throat “ Sherlock if you weren’t there for her she would probably be dead. Thank you. Were you able to confirm that it was heroin?”

 

Sherlock let out a long sigh “ I believe so, I rolled up her sleeve when we were in the ambulance. She had track marks on her, most of them new. But some looked to be about a week old maybe even more. Why would someone kidnap a person then get them addicted to heroin?” Sherlock was looking threw the small window that led to the ER doors. He hadn't thought it would be that bad. Sure maybe someone kidnapped  Watson then drugged her up once she had given up information and send her back to discredit her,but to make someone take an addictive narcotic for over a week. Thats personal, that's forcing an addiction.

 

A doctor came out the ER doors as  Sherlock raised his eyebrows. She walked passed them and kept going. 

 

“Alright I’m going to talk to the doctor you might want to go to the men's room and wash off your face before seeing her. When she is feeling up to it you should try to get her to make a statement.” Bell turned as he grabbed his badge and walked through to the ER.

 

Sherlock grabbed the bag and walked into the men's room. He set his stuff on under the sink and swiped his hand under the faucet. Cupping his hands under the water he let them fill as he stared into the mirror. She is going to have to detox. He splashed the water on his face and began to repeat. The water was brisk and cool against his face. Maybe not right away maybe she won’t have to go to rehab. Maybe if he took a week off of cases and spent it with her while she went through withdrawals, maybe if he could just be there for her. Unless they were injecting ridiculously large amounts of heroin into her...She’s strong she could make it through this. She was only using for about a week she can make it. He could take her to meetings with him. He could become her sponsor. He could be the personal valet. Her batman if you would. He splashed another handful of water on his face as the puffy swelling of his eyes began to decrease. 

 

He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket

**D/Insp** **Bell** **: She just finished her kit and will be in room 261. She’s not talking.**

 

One last splash of cold water and he grabbed some paper towels to dry his face off. He hurried and grabbed the bag as he made his way to the second floor and began to search for her room.

 

Through the small glass window he could see her sitting on her bed. She was curled up and no longer wearing her hobo disguise. Her hair still matted but her face was cleaned off. From what he could see from the window she was staring at her arm. not moving at all with the exception of the expansion of her ribs for breath. 

 

He entered the room quietly, she stayed motionless. They may have cleaned off her face but she was still covered in filth. The air was drenched with the stench of the druggie life. He set the bag on the end of her bed and began to take her clothes out and placed them in a nice pile.

“I abhor that you had to experience this.”  He pulled up a chair next to her bed. He fiddled with his fingers trying to look her in the eye.

“I’m not going to pretend to understand what you’ve been through. And I am sorry that this happened, but I do know what you’re going to have to go through to get better.” Her stare remained vacant. He straightened his posture and placed his hands in his lap.

“I don’t want you to have to go through this alone. Joan if you’ll have me I would like to help you when you’re ready. And if you’re not ready I will still be here.” Still nothing. Sherlock scratched behind his ear and shuffled in his seat.

“I got all the pipes removed from the brownstone, well the unwanted pipes.” Her gaze slowly made its way up to his. Her mouth slack jawed expression void of emotion. A smile cracked across Sherlocks face. 

 

“I had detective Bell pick up some clothes for you, if you want to leave now I can have Bell or a taxi bring us back to the brownstone after you’ve change. I will order some of your favorite french fries from that  Moo Burger place. We can watch baseball or those mafia films, anything you want...” Sherlock raised his eyebrows and leaned back in his chair.

 

Marcus appeared in the doorway. “Joan your family is on the way over. Your mom wants to know if you will be staying with her for a few days?” Both  Sherlock and  Bell looked at her. Nothing, no response. 

“Joan we need to know, you don’t have to speak just nod if you want to go to your mother's”  Marcus walked around the bed holding his phone to chest.  She was still staring at  Sherlock her eyes half opened and glazed. Her jaw closed slowly as she swayed her head back and forth. Bell left and got back on the phone.

 

“I want to go home.” Her voice was sleepy and low. Just like every morning when he woke her up. She was still not down from her high yet. Sherlock nodded and picked up the pile of her clothes. She sat up in the bed and removed the blankets accepting the bundle of sweats. Her movement was sloppy and sudden, then slow.

“I’ll be waiting here if you want to go change in the lavatory. I will call for a taxi as  Bell seems to be arguing with your mother on the…….what are you doing?!”  Sherlock ’s eyes went wide as he rushed to  Watson .

 

She had begun to remove her hospital gown in front of him, no thought. He grabbed the string and tied it back together. She snapped her head sideways at him. “The hell are you doing”  Watson facade went blank. Her face expresion distance. 

 

Sherlock was at a loss for words. Her olive skin was contaminated with marks and stains. He could see the bruises on her shoulder and back a few across the top of her chest and on her arms. the vibrant purples and deep yellows mixed with the dirt on her skin like an abstract work of art. His heart sunk deep. He wasn't there to protect her. He failed, Oscar was right he didn’t deserve friends like  Watson . He should have joined her for one lousy meal. 

 

He scooped  watson up while she was still disassociating and carried her into the restroom. He placed her on the sink and searched her eyes. Her clothes were still on her lap he took the black trousers and slid them on her like a toddler. She might not remember any of this but her modesty was still important. He delicately grabbed her waist  to keep mind of her bruises and slid her forward so she could stand. Stepping behind her he took her gown off and slide her hoodie on her. Just like Mycroft did to him when he was small. He walked her back to the bed and packed everything in the bag and pulled the wheel chair round. 

 

Detective  Bell came back through the door with the look of relief of finally getting of the phone with Ms  Watson . He looked at  Sherlock then down at newly clothed  Watson . “I’m guessing that you guys are going home. I can give you a ride,” he tried to look  Watson in the eye, then back up to  Sherlock ” Is she going to be okay? I can get her scheduled with the psychiatrist in the hospital”

“Not necessary  detective , when she is ready I have a few acquaintances that can help. Though I would love to take you up on that ride” 

“ok, I tried to get ahold of Gregson, but he apparently doesn't get service on his cruse. I’ll bring the car around front.”

 

Sherlock began to stroll  Watson to the elevator at the end of the hall the bag of leftover clothes swinging from the handlebars. They make their way to the ground floor in silence where they wait out front for  Bell .

“Sherlock?”  Joan ’s voice was so small

“Yes  Watson ”  Sherlock took a knee next to  Joan

“Thank you” She stood up out of her chair leaning on  Sherlock the entire time.

 

Bell pulled up and opened the door for the two as they climb in.  “Do we need to make any stops on the way there? Maybe a CVS or something to eat?”

“Can I ask that you swing by Moo Burger and get the fries special with all the sauces”  Sherlock helped  Watson get settled in the seat on the passenger side. “And really  Marcus thank you, you have been more than an exemplary friend”  Sherlock placed his hand on  Marcus shoulder briefly before getting into the backseat. 

 

Bell began to drive when  Sherlock felt that  Joan had somehow scooted over to the middle seat and was leaning on his shoulder. He gazed over to her, she was looking at his hands that were resting on his thighs. He turned his hand over and leaned it palm up towards  Watson and she placed her fingers between his.

 

They pulled up to the brownstone and make their way inside. Bell carried the fries and bag full of sauces into the kitchen and set it on the table. Watson made her way up to the bathroom. The water for the shower began to run as  Sherlock walked over to  Bell .

 

“Do you want me to stay? I know you can take care of her by yourself but I’m worried too. I mean she went through a lot.”  Bell let out a long sigh and pulled his belt up.

“I appreciate everything you have done for her, but I think what she need right now is time to come down from her high and rest. When she wakes back up I will see if she is willing to talk about what happened. I will call you then but I think it would be best if you came over to take the statement. She was dissociating earlier and has bruising all over her body.” Sherlock grabbed the flash drive that Wiggins sent along with the letter and handed it to  Bell . “We need to find the monster that did this. I received pictures from one of my associates of the man who had  Watson . His face looks to be mostly banged up. Like he had been in a fight, but he had seen a doctor because he was bandaged up. If you could try to figure out who this man is that would be of great help.” Sherlock's head bobbed with every word. Marcus grabbed a few fries as he began to leave. He turned around in the foryar. “We should have the test results back tomorrow I will pick them up on the way over here.”

 

The shower stopped as  Sherlock finished pushing the couch into position in the tv room. All the windows were open to let in the cool night air. He had a pile of mafia related films displayed out on the floor. Joan was still getting dressed in her room as  Sherlock went to the restroom and changed into his  pajama bottoms and a fresh shirt.

 

Joan was looking at all the films as she grabbed one and put it in the dvd player. The untouchables. Sherlock walks behind the couch with a hand full of blankets and fries. 

 

“You just fulfilled the first rule of law enforcement: make sure when your shift is over you go home alive. Here endeth the lesson.” Sherlock quoted with his best Sean Connery voice. Joan let out a quiet croak of laughter.

 

They both sat on the couch at opposite ends as  Watson slowly began to sink into the lying position with her feet pressed up against  Sherlock ’s leg. Though he wasn’t one for touching this, this was ok. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye to make sure she was watching the film. She was chewing on a french frie, the same fry she had been chewing for about two scenes now. 

 

Wonder what It would be like to get high with  Watson . Sherlock blinked hard, the thought terrified him. Where did that come from. He had been sober for roughly 25 days since his relapse. Only a few times has heroin crossed his mind but never as a way to pass time with his partner. He grabbed a fry and took the sauce she had in front of her. 

 

A few minutes pass by and he could hear her snoring. All the windows had been closed and he turned the movie off. He laid some blankets out on the floor below  Joan and fell asleep next to her.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hours before the withdrawls begin Joan has to make her statement to Marcus and talks to Sherlock about her fears.

It’s been four minutes since the beginning of Clyde's journey. His “mom” had shown up in a frenzy last night and was walking around the room before realizing he was there. She flashed one of her big smiles at him and took  him out . She was talking to fast for him to understand but she made it clear that there was a mission for him to do. They walked up the stairs together and she told him to keep guard, or wake up the other one. Tortoise to human translation is a little tricky.She set him on the floor next to the the room where the target was snoring. He set out to find the target to tell him that he found mom and is awaiting a reward, also that they need to keep guard but reward first. He finally reached the couch when the true adventure began. Clyde never gets to wake up the tall one so he must make sure that he does it right. First he tries to nip the targets nose, it's so long and pointy. But this proved to be difficult due to the fact that his nose was smashed against the ground. So backup plan. He traveled to the nearest patch of bare skin. This day shall go down in history, as Clyde the tortoise will take the first steps of climbing the tall human and waking the tall human. 

 

“Bloody…..” Sherlock rolled over quickly from a sharp pain in his side. Clyde had somehow crawled up his shirt and bit just below his armpit. “Good morning Clyde, did you see your mum’s back!” Sherlock stood up wiping the drool from his face with one hand while Clyde stayed put in the other. “Watson?” Sherlock jogged down the steps towards Watson's room. She was making quite a bit of noise like she was running around in the room, but when he opened the door she was sitting on the floor with gloves on and putting new wood  chips in Clyde's home.

 

“Hello, did you spend some quality time with Clyde? He missed you.” Sherlock lifted Clyde simultaneously with his eyebrows.

“Yea, we had a long talk about why there is tape residue on his back and where it came from” Now she gave him an eyebrow raise. Sherlock slyly cleared his throat. 

“He was my maintenance partner….. How are you feeling?”

“ I’m just glad to be back” She bumped her elbow against the glass and winched.

“They said you had bruising but no broken bones” Sherlock sat down in the doorway and placed Clyde between his legs. He look up rubbing his knee. “When you are ready to talk about what happened Marcus will come over and take your statement, and if you need to talk about it my ears are always here for you.” Joan let out a small sigh and shifted around.  

“Could you get me some ice packs for my arms, I think they hurt the worst, almost like there are a million fire ants crawling and  biting me . It’s driving me nuts” She held out her hand for Clyde. Sherlock looked her up and down. His heart was calm but felt like there was a significant weight dragging each beat. He gave Clyde a rub and passed him to her while standing up in the doorway. He began to pick at the wood of the door frame. The itches and ticks of the tracks is what she was feeling. The drug residue flowing through her veins.His brow twitched with the memories. His body no longer calm he began swaying slightly and tapping his left hand.

 

“I uh I don’t know how much they injected you with…” Sherlock realized he was fidgeting so much that it was difficult to hear him over his own taps and movements. “...but you have been without drugs for about twenty hours. You are going to begin feeling high levels of discomfort and irritability, maybe even high amounts of sickness in about two or four hours. I need to make a run to shop to get the rest of the things for my miraculous withdrawal kit. You are more than welcome to join me” His eyebrows raised as his body stilled. “Or you can begin to find the space in the brownstone that you feel you will be the most comfortable with being uncomfortable.”  Watson's eyes were distant with tears beginning to swell. Seeing her so damaged forced a wave of despair over him.

 

He gave a sharp exhale and began to turn away.

“How bad will it be?” Her voice rigid with shakiness and nearly inaudible. “I have helped people stay sober, but if they relapse I don't see them. I didn’t even see Liam go through his, I have only seen your withdrawal and even for that you locked yourself away and didn’t speak for three days.” He walked back into the room and sat on the floor next to her and began to follow the lines on the wood on the floor with his fingers.

 

There was a vibrant purple bruise peeking out of the back of her hoodie up to her neck. Watson is without fail one of the most tenaciously powerful women he has ever had the pleasure of meeting. She has been kidnaped, beaten, a target of the mob, held at gunpoint and put up with all of his extravagant bullshit. He has seen her frustrated, shocked, annoyed, done, and maybe even spooked but not scared, not like this. The subject of withdrawal is not commonly spoken about from addict to addict. Sherlock couldn’t recall what it was like breaking his withdrawal cherry, but he also doesn't recall ever being scared of it. Maybe because he wanted the drug he was prepared for the consequence, and Watson not wanting anything to do with drugs was mostly because of the fear of repercussions.  

 

“There are a series of things that factor into how formidable it can be. Such as the purity or density of the dosage, the amount of times administered how many hours one has stayed high without withdrawal…” He looked over at her. She was sitting down on one knee with her chin resting on her other knee. He reached his arm out for a form of comfort contact, maybe a shoulder squeeze , but immediately placed it on the floor instead. All of those bruises, any form of contact would hurt and that's the last thing he would want to do. Sherlock cleared his throat  “Not to worry Watson I will be here with you for the duration of this misadventure. Even though I can guarantee that you will not wish for me to be there, I will. I can have Bell pick up the rest of the things I need so you don’t have to be alone, but when he gets here he’s going to want to take that statement from you. Also I don’t know how much you remember of what happened before you came home last night but we had you take a rape kit and tested you for HIV, in case of needle sharing. You were wearing some men's clothes when you were placed out front, we didn't know what had happened and wanted to check all possibilities. Bell has the results and said he would not open them until he speaks with you. If this is too much we can wait, we can always wait.” His eyed her bruises that were visible on her arm from her rolled up sleeves.

 

Watson had not moved from her position. “ I know that I need to make a statement, but Sherlock” She turned towards him her face pale from despair. “I honestly can only remember bits and pieces of time. I know that... that….” Watson was rocking slightly. Sherlock gently placed his  hand on hers. She was warm under her gloves.

“Hey lets take a breath okay? It’s normal to have memory problems, blackouts and such when drugs are involved. I also know that what happened to you will have its psychological effects as well. So to help you I think we should wait for detective Bell to come so you only have to tell the story once. I'm going to go and call him. If I can make a suggestion as to where we set up a room for you. The room between the storage area and your room, next to the restroom. Is not actually another storage room, I just have it set up like that so no one can go into there.” Sherlock began to stand slowly whilst still holding Watson's hand. “I sometimes lock myself in there when I need long periods of time to meditate. This might be the best room for you, it even has a small quarter bath and plenty of window if we tear down the cardboard I placed over them. There's a bed a small fridge and computer. The key is in the old spice deodorant stick.”  He patted his sides looking for his phone remembering that it was in his pants in the restroom and began to walk away. 

 

Watson squeezed his hand and looked him straight in the eye. “Don’t think that we are not going to have a discussion about you having a secret room next to my room. After I am clean and we catch the guys that did this we are so having that conversation.”  She pulled her gloves off and stood up scratching at her arm. “What do I do to prepare, do I gather some books or movies or boardgames? Do I need to wear layers or what?” She let out a long exhale and folded her arms. “When Marcus comes over…” her breathing became shallow. Sherlock stepped closer to her and leaned forward. In most cases of comfort touching is the best display of support, but if one is bruised up breaking personal space bubbles is the next best thing logicly. The corners of her lips tugged up for a quick smile when she figured out what Sherlock was trying to do.  “ I would really appreciate if you sat with me for the recording. I know I’m strong and tough but for this I need your help, I need you to be my support.”  

 

“Someone took you Watson, you need not ask I am by your side.” His eyes fixed on her with his voice significant and low. “In my experience the best things to wear are pajama bottoms and a well fitted t-shirt. You are going to be annoyed with everything so I would stick with online videos and in between videos I will read you a few short tales or we can listen to a podcast they have some interesting ones out there that I have been curious about. In the meantime you need to eat something come down to the kitchen and we can find something together hmmm.” Sherlock left to the restroom so she could get dressed.

 

Sherlock grabbed his old pants and reached into the pocket to receive his phone. Though the circumstances could be infinitely better a jolt of  glee zipped threw Sherlock he has never been able to make his wonderful withdrawal concoction whilst sober. Joan is going to get the finest treatment! He dropped his old trousers back onto the bathroom floor with a loud thud. a loud thud. 100% cotton chinos should not make a loud thud. Sherlock bent down and lifted the pants once more. He dug into the other pocket and pulled out a large wooden case. Watsons mystery grunge pants case.

 

Sherlock's phone quickly call Marcus. He answered after one ring.

“Hey is she up?” Marcus tone was steady with an underline of excitement.

“Yes, and she is holding up rather well. I spoke with her about you getting her test results and needing a statement.” Sherlock placed the phone between his head and shoulder and began to examine the wooden case.

“Is she ready to give a full statement? I picked up some of her favorite gummies.” Marcus cleared his throat. “I'm uh I'm not completely sure what I can do to help her I mean I don't want to crowd her and besides you, I have never had a friend go through anything like this.” he let out a deep sigh 

“Not to worry Marcus you are doing exemplary. You being there for her, that's the utmost important thing for someone in this position. If you wouldn't mind, I don't wish to leave her by her lonesome, could you pick up some things for me? I'll shoot them to you via text” Sherlock put the unopened case in his pocket and began texting furiously

“got it,  I'll be over in a half hour” bell disconnected 

 

Sherlock pulled the case back out and resumed his examination.The case itself smelled of tobacco and steak sauce. A smoky steak sauce that is identical to a certain scottish tobacco. Mcclelland cpcc scottish woods pipe tobacco to be exact. Despite the smell of pipe tobacco the parameters of the case was not suited to fit a pipe. He cracked the case open and felt the lining. He peeled back the velvet lining of the case to see the tobacco packed against the frame to disguise the content. Now opened it reveal a singular pre-made shot, a piece of green and orange striped paper the size of a stick of gum that has been plastic wrapped and a baggie containing a small amount of what appeared to be genuine black tar heroin. 

 

This was surreal 

 

Sherlock’s body had sunk to the cold linoleum of the bathroom floor. The realization of Joan’s drug usage was overwhelming. His family was always lying and sneaking around the closest thing he's ever had as a friend were his drug buddies. So when someone like Watson comes along, someone more pure like how his mother was before she died, it's infinitely more difficult to accept that bad things happen to good people, good people he cares about. With his hands shaking he picked up the shot and placed it on to the floor near the bathtub alongside the small baggie of black tar. He  opened up the colorful  paper after removing the wrapping. a white powder spilled slightly from the paper. China white. It was worse than he feared. China White is the purest form of heroin available, the most dangerous and easiest to overdose on. 

 

Sherlock’s heart was palpitating as his chest began to tighten. A numbness began to grow over him starting from the tips of his fingers and toes and snuck its way to his stomach. His eyes were tightly pressed together, he couldn’t feel his face.

 

The chime of Sherlock’s phone snapped  him out of his daze. He wrapped the drugs back up and taped the shot and black tar under the rim of the bathtub. Placing the China white in case into his pocket.

**D/Insp** **Bell** **: They only have off brand not Delsym, will that do?**

**Sherlock: Yes, thank you.**

 

Joan was in her dog print pajama pants and a Wu Tang clan t-shirt staring into an open fridge. Sherlock came down the stairs straight into his room. Alistair in the early years of their friendship had given him a chest to him as a gift for helping him secure a roll at his father's favorite theater. “Watson have you seen a small green chest with bronze welsh designs on it?!” He tugged at a box from his closet and sent four more boxes falling. one of them contained a bunch of chemistry tools. He shifted around the rubber tubes and glass beakers to reveal the emerald chest. “Nevermind I’ve got it!!” he opened the door to Watson on the floor leaning against the cabinets with her finger in a jar of peanut butter. “I’ve uh found the uh, let's get you over here to the table shall we.” He set the box on the table and helped her up to one of the chairs. He reached above the fridge and pulled down a pack of hawaiian rolls.Here trust me they go well together. “Marcus is on his way he should be here in a few are you ok doing your interview in the kitchen? I would like to start on making your meds but I will be needing the oven and fridge.”

“Yea, as long as you are here I’m good. Can Marcus pick up some crunchy peanut butter?”

“I will ask.” 

 

Sherlock was observing Watson from the corner of his eye. Normally she would notice and say something about it but there was nothing. The next step in her moods should be grumpiness and annoyance. It’s almost like she still has not gotten  it out of her system. Though if she was on China white it is potent enough to still be in her system. Watson suddenly sat straight up and loud growl came from her stomach. She let out a groan and booked it for the stairs. Sherlock let out a short crack of laughter and dropped the chest to cover his mouth with both hands. The look on Watson's face reminded him of his dealer in the UK Mark. 

 

In the mid 90’s Sherlocks “buddy” Mark had decided to get clean and forgot that heroin makes you constipated, he was on his way to the shop to get Sherlock's old method of getting clean supplies, when just like Watson the heroin had worn off and he was no longer constipated. This is how they found the worst toilet in Scotland, and Mark did not make it to the toilet.

 

Marcus slowly made his way down the stairs to Sherlock still shaking with muffled laughter. He turned around at the sound of steps and quieted down before walking  over to Bell with a big smile still going across his face. 

“How  could you possibly be smiling with a situation like this going on?” Marcus was using his stern cop voice on Sherlock

“It just Watson reminded me of something that onced happened, sorry you're right. She will be in the bathroom for a while before we can begin anything. Let me take some of those.” Sherlock grabbed a few of the bags from Bell and set them at the table. two bags with nothing but gatorade and powerade. “How much do I owe you?”

“No you don’t have to pay me back I want to help.” Marcus waved Sherlock off.

“No this is a lot” Sherlock went into his room and came back with a hand full of twenties. Marcus accepted and place the rest of the bags down. 

“So what is all of this for?” Marcus began pulling out boxes of Take Kare flu and cold medicine.

“It is to help Watson with the pain. While we wait would you care to help?” Sherlock pulled out an empty two liter bottle and gestured for him to take it.

“Sure, so what do you plan on doing?” He took the bottle and placed it on the table.

“First I need you to open all of the cold and flu meds and pour them into this bottle so it will look like this one.” Sherlock reached for a similar but full bottle that was labeled for two minutes ago.

“Okay, you know this is illegal. You are asking me to help you make drugs Sherlock!” Despite his protest Bell was still pouring the bottles into the liter. Sherlock began separating the bottle he was working on.

 

“We are setting up a room between Watson room and the bathroom. For Watson's sake we are locking ourselves in, would you mind passing me the yeah” Sherlock was reaching for a tray  made out of tin foil. “I might have to call you or Alfredo to lock us in from the outside for extra precaution. I have called Ms Hudson to come by in a few days to check in on us and tidy up the brownstone.” 

“Wait, a couple days how long do you think you need to stay in there? how long does a detox last? And how does DXM help? You know what no, don’t tell me, just I want to help I feel like I’m not being a friend. I’m an errand runner.” Marcus brought the liter over to the sink and began to fill the rest of the bottle with water. Sherlock had set what he was working on down and set the oven temperature. 

 

“Marcus, it may seem like you’re not doing anything but running around is what we need. When one is on drugs it's hard to think or care about anyone other than oneself, and even then you are barely even thinking about yourself your just thinking about getting that next hit. Trust me we need your help, you are helping.” Sherlock quickly reached out and rubbed Bells arm and place two stern pats. The oven beeped and he place the tray of drugs down and handed Marcus, whom looked to be in shock. “I need you to label the time on that one after you shake it. Detox, detective depends on how much you took. The average user will show signs of withdrawal for about a week, so at least five days to answer your questions. And DXM helps in a similar way that methadone without there actually being any opiates in it, it's just a prefered method. There's something else that I need to show you.” Sherlock reached into his pocket and pulled out the wooden case and handed it to Bell. “I pulled this out of Watson's pants when we were in the ambulance, I’ve sorta forgot about it until now.” Marcus opened the case and examined the baggie and powder. Then moved to examine the lining. 

“So they lined the case with tobacco to hide the smell of the heroin, and if I remember correctly this is the really expensive stuff right?” Bell pulled out an evidence bag and placed the drugs and case inside. 

“That particular strain of heroin is the purest form it comes in. I think we will be in there for a week because she was able to build up tolerance for that in less than two weeks. Have you found any information on the whereabouts of our mystery dealer? If this is what he was handling he should be well known.” Sherlock placed the tin foil trays in the oven and pulled out a bag of empty capsules and set them on the table. Marcus had trash bag out and started cleaning up the boxes.

“I put out a bolo and apb message with his photo, people are looking, but no relevant tips so far.”  They both start making the pills together and brought up extra things to the room after a while the last batch ding in the oven. Marcus began putting the drinks in the ice filled cooler next to the fridge.

  
  


Watson came down the stairs slowly and took a seat next to Sherlock who was sorting pills into trays while lining up bottles of medicines. Bell looked up from trying to find a place in the ice for the last drink. “Joan it's so good to see you home and safe!” Watson nodded and crossed her arms. “Sherlock said he spoke to you about the test and what we need from you for the statement. Are you ready to begin?” Joan noded her head and Marcus set out a recorder and pad and sat across from them. “Can you please state your name and what happened to you.”

 

Joan took a deep breath. “About a week and a half ago I went to meet my family for a meal. When I showed up they weren’t there. I waited a while then received a text from my mother saying they were at a different restaurant, which I thought was strange considering we made reservations to the steak house and they were still holding it. So I grabbed my things and told the server that we were canceling the reservations and went to leave. These two guys got out of a black car and ambush me. One had what felt like a gun stuck to my shoulder. I must have dropped my things when they grabbed me. They didn’t say anything except for me to stay quiet if I wanted to live. We drove to some tunnel and they took me down into an abandoned subway street that led to a park. I saw an opening to get away so I hit the guy with the gun onto the floor and took off into the park, it was dark by then and a group of homeless people stopped to help me. They said they would escort  me out of the park and they began to when I felt a pinch in my neck, I think one of them drugged me. When I came to I was tied to a chair in some wearhouse. I saw a man that sounded very familiar, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on who it was. He told me to relax and that I hurt myself. He was right There was blood dripping down my sleeves he said he was going to clean it up but I had to promise not to hurt him because they would have to remove the ropes to get to the wound. When they undid them I could feel the pain in my side there was a piece of glass sticking in my arm and ribs. He removed them and bandage the cuts. But when he took my arm he said let me help with that pain and stuck me with a needle. I remember feeling a wave wash over me and my arms and legs became very heavy, I must have passed out after that but I think that was the first time they injected me with heroin. After that things become fuzzy. I remember we kept on moving from place to place, for the most of it all the guys accept one would come and go. The guy was about 5’9’’ medium build, he had a sling and his face was swollen like he had recently been in a fight. He also made this noise when he was breathing I would guess from a collapsed lung. I don’t remember changing clothing but He kept on talking getting directions from someone on his cell phone, I tried to sneak the phone from him but it was difficult to stay conscious long enough to do anything. After the first week…” Joan had tears streaming down her face, she had been staring down at her lap for most of the story. Sherlock had stopped messing with the pills and had placed his  hand on her knee. She looked over at him and leaned into his shoulder and let out a quiet cry. He slowly wrapped his arms around her. He looked over at Marcus wide eyed then back down at Watson. She leaned back looking Sherlock straight in the eye. “By the end of the first week they no longer needed to forcefully inject me, I was asking for more, I was taking anything they gave me. Pills injections anything. I had given up, I know it was because of the drugs but I couldn’t see any reason to even try to get away. That is completely not like me, I just kept needing that next hit.” She put her head back on Sherlock's shoulder. He looked back over to Bell.

 

“I think that's all we need thank you Joan.” Bell turned the recorder off and pulled out an envelope. “ I have your results here do you want me to read them to you?” Joan shook her head still in Sherlock's embrace. Bell opened the envelope and took the smaller page out and read through it. “Good news is you are negative for HIV!” Sherlock was slowly rocking Joan side to side 

“mmmm you hear that Joan, your test was negative” She was squeezing the chest of his shirt, snagging a few hairs along. 

 

Bell opened the larger sheet and spread out a few pages on the table. “Okay this says that there was no force trauma and no seaman. All clear!” Joan released Sherlock's shirt and grabbed hold of his thigh, making him jump in his seat. She then let out a large stream of vomit onto his lap sitting up straight she tried to wipe her face to say sorry when another burst of vomit hits the floor beneath her. Sherlock stood up and handed her a bowl and a dish rag.

“Could you walk her up to the extra room next to the restroom, and no it's not a supply closet just push the back wall it's a door. I’ll be up there shortly with the stuff we need.” Marcus grabbed the bag of food he picked up for them and held Joan's arm as they walked up the steps. Sherlock changed his trousers to another pair of pajama pants and a fresh red shirt. He stacked the bags of meds and pill cases on top of his laptop and cooler and lifted them up the stairs. Marcus was sitting on the edge of the bed pulling Joans hair back into a ponytail while she spat into the bucket.

 

“Has this always been a room?” Marcus finished putting the hair tie in. 

“Yes but it was a secret, When you leave can you turn the lights off throughout the brownstone but leave the study light on. and if you make any progress on locating our villain do not hesitate to contact me. I have told Wiggins the boy who got the photos to go down to your desk when he can to help.” Sherlock nodded at Bell as he went out into the hall.

“Hold on Sherlock you forgot your turtle or tortoise thing” Marcus brought clyde's  tank into the room. 

“Thank you Marcus” Jones was weak but Bell still gave her a smile.

“I will text you when I get any updates, really wish Gregson was here to help with this.” He walked down the hall flipping the light switch. Sherlock closed the door turned towards Watson who was shivering. He pulled out a gatorade and handed it to her as she got under the covers. The bed was large enough for the two of them to lay on but he needed to finish the setup for the hours to come.

  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the investigation continues as Sherlock and Joan work on her detox

 

Marcus had finally gotten home from the precinct. Over the last two weeks he had only been home to sleep for a few hours every couple of days, splitting his time between the precinct and Sherlocks he had neglected to do the little things around the apartment. Good thing is that the garbage truck was down the street and he could finally throw out the expired milk that was stinking up the place. He gathered his trash and headed out the door down to the front of his building. The truck was only two buildings down but the garbage man was beginning to gather his buildings trash, he began to walk away when he heard a guy yelling at the garbage man across the street.

 

The guy looked a little too pyramid scheme to be living in this neighborhood. Marcus crossed the street looking to make sure the issue did not escalate. Before he could make it halfway across the man grabbed the sanitation worker by the collar and threw him down into the trash before getting into a car and driving off. Marcus yelled and dashed to help the guy up. “Are you okay?”

“Yea that asshat was mad at me for not being the normal guy that works this route. How is it my fault that someone was fired?!” The worker was brushing off some banana that was stuck to his hip.

“I’m a detective down at the 11th do you want to press charges against him?” Marcus pulled a noodle off of the man's back.

“No he has been doing this to the two other people that were sent to do this route, they traded me.” He grabbed some of the bags off the street

“What, does he not like the time you do pick up?”

“No he keeps thinking we have his dishes, we looked through the trash there were no plates or cups. We think he is just ill in the head, but he keeps insisting that we have his dishes...well thanks for your help.” He ran down the street to catch up with the truck. Marcus began to walk back to his apartment when he noticed a flyer stuck to his shoe, he folded it and stuck it into his pocket as he got back into the apartment and set his alarm for the day and finally got some rest.

 

Sherlock had been sitting on the couch across from the bed focusing on an old case he found. Watson normally had a slightly sweet body odor, much like cotton and honey. Sweaty withdrawal Watson smelled of toilet and peanut butter. The room had a small room breaking wall that covered the toilet and part of the tub, Sherlock walked over to the other side of the wall to grab some tiger balm from the medicine cabinet to rub under his nose.

 

“Stop being so loud, I’m dying here!” Watson whined, Sherlock ignored her. She had been calling him everything under the sun but his name, complaining about everything he did and any noise he made. It wasn’t that big of a deal he knew what it's like going through this, but she said he couldn’t even meditate because it made his presence overbearing. He didn’t need to turn around, he could hear her tossing turning. Constantly readjusting trying to get comfortable but never being able to.

 

“Watson, this is the withdrawal speaking how about you sit up and get out from under the blankets?”He walked back around the wall so he can see her.

“How about you shut the hell up” She mimicked him with a english accent. He looked at the clock and handed her two more pills and a cup of water. She took the pills in one hand and swallowed them with ease and waved away the water.

“Watson you have to keep hydrated if you wish to improve. And we both might benefit from you taking a bath or brushing your teeth.”  He shot her a glance before handing her another bottle of blue gatorade, she had thrown the last one up which made for a very colorful sick bucket.

 

“Listen fourteen mile forehead, I’m the professional doctor. I know when-” She stopped suddenly and leaned over throwing up the pills and bile. She then reached into the bucket and took the two pills out and swallowed them again but this time with a big gulp of her gatorade. “You should have told me it would feel like this” She threw her blankets off and sat up, wiping sweat off of her face sloppily.

“I had no way of knowing the severity of your usage I didn’t want to scare you anymore than you were.” He sat on the edge of the bed next to her feet.

“白人男人就知道说谎"!” Watson shouted at him in mandarin and rolled up her pant legs. He knew she could speak Chinese but could not recall ever hearing her speak it.  

“You know when you say things like that you sound like your mother, this white boy prefers hard truths over lies” He reached up and place his hand on her face, she was flushed and running a fever.

“Stop sitting so close you're not my family. God you have to be the most annoying person in the world!” She stood up and walked over and opened the window. Sherlock wiped his hand on his pant leg. She’s only saying things like this because of the withdrawal she doesn’t mean anything by it.

He has heard every insult in the book, every bad name every curse word. He has been hated, rejected, disowned, forgotten, and destroyed. But none of the people that did that to him in the past meant so much to him.

 

Watson slid down next to the couch and curled up in a ball.” I feel like I have the flu.”

“You are running a fever, that is why I touched your head, I would strongly suggesting that you soak in the bath or take more ibuprofen. The other option is to put these ice packs on and have a lie down.” Sherlock walked over to the cooler on the table and pulled out a small bit of lettuce to give to Clyde, who was stuck between his stick and the wall.

“I also feel like I have high blood pressure, food poisoning, manic depression, insomnia and I might have just had a panic attack. Will your magic pill and ice pack fix that?” She teased. Sherlock let out a sigh and stood up.

 

“I don’t want this.” Joan was spread eagle under the window

“Want what Watson?” Sherlock was standing over her looking down.

“This! You off brand Marlon Brando, what else would I be talking about...ugh I think ...I think I’m” She rolled over and threw up again. leaving a large sky blue puddle below her. Feeling dizzy she laid down in the puddle. Sherlock couldn't help but give a soft yuck and squish his face together. Surely when he went through his first time he wasn’t this sad, was he? He grab a rag and lifted her up. She had fallen back to sleep. He laid her on her side on the couch and tried to wipe the vomit off of her, subsequently getting blue vomit all over his shirt again. That was the last rag that he brought and now it is too soaked to clean up anything else. He remove his shirt to clean up the sick off the floor. Placing an ice pack on her head and one on her side he estimated that she would not be waking up for at least the next ten minutes, so Sherlock took the time to run downstairs and grab a couple of fresh shirts.

 

When he got down to his room and began searching for his bag of shirts, they had been under the boxes that fell from his search earlier. He moved the chemistry set onto the table and grabbed the black bag and pulled it out, causing two more boxes to fall over.He quickley pushed them against the wall and set the bag down next to the chem set. Selecting a random shirt from the pile he donned a white t-shirt and pulled out a colorful handful of shirts to place in the box. Might as well bring something extra to do, he grabbed another box of chemicals. Watson had already banned him from the computer because he was typing too loud, the tv was too annoying, he tried reading but the way he turned the pages made her throw a pillow at him, and most of the board games she brought up were for two players. Pouring liquids is rather quiet and he can work on a few new concoctions. There was a high pitch wail in the walls as water began to move in the pipes. She must have finally realized she was covered in vomit.

 

He got to the first floor and hear someone close and lock the door. He set his box down on the couch and went over to the foryar to find a bag from Lush spa and a pink box of doughnuts with a card from Alfredo stating that he is available if Joan wants a sponsor and that he is glad she is back. Marcus must have filled him in on the details of Watson’s return. Alfredo and his nasty doughnuts, Sherlock smirked. He could hear the toilet flush from halfway up the stairs.He grab his box and stacked everything inside and began to climb. He gave her a second before entering. She was sitting at the desk staring at Clyde.

“You don’t look so feverous anymore. This is why you should try hard to not regurgitate your medication. Alfredo left these for you.” He placed the bag and box next to her. She grabbed a donut and licked some frosting off of it.

“ I thought we weren’t aloud to leave the room. You broke the rule.” She sang as she tossed the donut back into the box.

“You released bodily fluids on my shirt again, I had to get more” He set the box on the coffee table and began to take the beakers and bunsen burners out. Joan let out a small hiccup and leaned in closer to Clyde. “If you’re feeling up to it do you want to watch a video, maybe play a game or to , or change your dirty shirt.” Sherlock did not turn to look at her as he emptied the rest of the box.

 

There was a loud thud followed by a short yell as the wheeled chair at the desk shot across the room next to Sherlock. He spun quickly and rushed over to Watson. “Watson are you alright, how did you fall?” He hovered over her for a second as she layed there on her back looking up at him her eyelids droopy. “Did you hit your head? Watson,” he snapped his fingers, “Watson what happened, Joan I need you to speak.” He lifted her head to inspect it. Clear, no blood but she let out a deep moan. loud enough to startle Sherlock causing him to drop her head back on the floor.

“Ahh, what'd do that for?” She stuck her hand out for assistance.

“You, well you made a noise I wasn't sure if, ehm are you alright?” He grabbed her hand and helped her stand. She looked down at her shirt that was still damp from where she tried to wipe vomit off.

“Well I would be better with a clean shirt, did you happen to grab me any?” She took a seat on the desk next to Clyde.

“Here, just wear one of mine.” He grabbed her a sky blue shirt with a strange 1600s style art man on a horse.  She stood up and turned to change shirts. Sherlock turned back round and searched through the pile of games. He grabbed a deck of cards. “How about a little architectural fun, hmm. We could build a tower…”  He turned around to see Watson sitting on the floor with with her back against him, neither of the shirts on going threw the bag Alfredo left her. She seemed to be rather out of it, she was no longer shivering which is a plus but it's odd that she is so calm. “Watson did you take some more pills when I went down stairs?” She pulled out a green orb with lighter green vines on the front.

“I think I might take you up on that bath before I get dressed but I’m going to need more wall that that.”  Sherlock went over to the bed and took of the top layer of sheet and tacked it up to cover the missing wall.

 

Watson started the bath water and stood looking into the mirror. Sherlock was leaning against the wall behind her staring at all the colored bruises that painted her back and ribs. “Why do you keep staring at me? I’m fine I don’t feel nearly as bad as I did an hour ago. Infact I think after a nice soak I should be good and we should go out for smoothies or something.” She redid her ponytail into a messy bun.

 

Sherlock studied her before fidgeting enough to get her attention. “What?”

“There is a hindrance to my believing you being over your withdrawals. The timing is all wrong.” He grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. Her face was blank, as though she had zoned out. Her eyes were glazed fixed on a point beyond his shoulder with her mouth slightly opened. She started to dissociate again. He sat down on the toilet seat beside her and waited for her to come back.

 

She took a deep breath, looked around and went to turn the water off and tossed the bomb into the tub. “Do you mind I just need a little privacy.”

“Sure thing but first, did you take more of the tan pills?” Sherlock stayed seated

“Um...I don’t think so. I’m just feeling very out of it.” She gestured for him to leave and he went back to the desk and started on the card tower.

 

The aroma of citrus and cedar filled the room as a night breeze wafted through the window and knocked over Sherlock's tower of cards. The mix of heat from the night and humidity of Watsons bath called for him to switch to shorts. He began to rebuild his tower. “Watson?”

“Hmm” a small splash of water hit the floor from Watson looking to the hanging sheet.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to prevent this from happening, I should have gone with you.” There was a long silence. The bath water swayed as Watson's fingers curled around the sheet and pulled it back some, popping her head up from the bear claw tub.

“Sherlock this is not your fault. You could not have known any of this would happen and we are going to get the bastards that did this. Besides if anyone should feel bad it should be me for becoming an addict. I should have fought it more.” She let go of the sheet.

“Joan,  you are one of the strongest people I know. You have been through so many heinous acts of violence in your life, yet here you are. Strong as ever, still grinding away. You will find a-”

“No Sherlock!” Watson ripped down the sheet with one big yank, her body still immersed in the green glittory water of her bath bomb soak. She was leaning over the edge of the tub. “I’m not strong Sherlock, I’m broken!” Tears were rolling down her cheek.  Sherlock had a short moment of shock.

 

“Watson you are not broken. You are just going thru withdrawals. Don’t be upset with yourself you’re doing extraordinarily well.” Sherlock started of with a bang and tapered down to a whisper.  She turned in the bath and was staring at the ceiling.

“Why would you say that Watson?”

“That night that I made the surgical mistake and killed my patient, I didn’t cry for days. When I was kidnapped following le milieu , I performed surgery for the first time in years. I used vodka and a box cutter and got him stable, only to have him shot and killed in front of me minutes after getting fixed. I had guns pointed at me and was about to be killed and when I came home I didn’t even flinch. Andrew was killed right in front of me, my own boyfriend died, by accidentally drinking my drink. I was barely fazed” She splashed water on her face. “Sherlock I should be traumatized! How am I okay? No one should be ok with all of this!” She rolled back over to look at him. “I used to see a therapist, I told her I was having difficulty dealing after accidentally causing a man's death. But even speaking with her it was like I am an emotionless robot. That is broken Sherlock. I am broken, I try to act as humanly as possible, but when it comes down to it _you_ experience more human emotions and reactions to traumas than I can. _You_ the guy who can't even say I love you, let alone give a warm smile.”

 

Sherlock sat quietly. His mind was racing, trying to find a way to comfort her. He looked back at her and noticed her head do a small nod.

“Watson,you are not broken you just have a perplexing way of dealing with stress. It's not that uncommon. When this is all over we can look for support groups for you to go to.” It was hard seeing Joan so negative about herself. She did another small nod. “Watson how are you doing with your withdrawals.”

 

She was still. The water was calm. Sherlock kneeled next to her. She was sleeping. In mid conversation. He splashed some water on her face. Nothing. He placed his hand on her head. “What are you doing stop.” She slid down and popped her feet up onto the side of the tub. Sherlock felt his stomach drop. There was a track mark on her foot. A new one. His lungs could only handle short intakes as rage began to build up in his chest. He failed her.She was on the nod. He clenched his fist trying to control himself as he dashed over to the couch flipping it on its side and tearing out the cushions.  He turned around and tossed the pillows and blankets off the bed .“Watson!” He shouted flipping over the mattress. He stomped over to the desk and started throwing paper, pens, a rubix cube, and several other small supplies out. One splashing into Watsons bath. She fumbled up grabbing the sheet and wrapping it around her.

“What the hell Sherlock what are you doing?” She stumbled into the corner. Sherlock took a deep breath in and sat back at the desk.

 

“Watson….Joan, I need you to be honest with me. I’m sorry I just went into a fit but I promise I am not cross with you. I am disappointed that I did not exercise every precaution.I know that you shot up when I went downstairs. I can see your fresh mark on your foot. I understand how difficult it is to go through withdrawal but you need to make it through. To get better, being an addict is not an achievement, both you and I know this. So if you could just tell me where you got the drugs from and where you are hiding them I can help prevent you from ruining your chances of becoming clean.” His voice was soft and overly articulate. He could feel the rage dying down as he noticed Watson covered in glitter wrapped in a sheet.

 

Sherlock watched as she sat down and curled up next to the radiator. “Watson, I’m only trying to help”

“I just needed the one little bit, I needed to be better Sherlock.” Her words slurring into one another

“It's a never ending conundrum. You will always need just that little bit more.”

“I just need to sleep, just let me sleep. I won’t be an addict like how you were, not that bad. I can control this. I will just take small doses every other day and and and I won’t have to do any of this. I can just, let me.” She turned over and began to doze off.

“Watson!” Sherlock yelled startling Watson. his rage slowly crawling back up his neck

“Just go away!”

“No, this process is poison. You of all people should know better. You can’t control this.”  He grabbed her by the shoulders and lifted her up, then pressed her against the wall. His face was burning.

“Ah let go Sherlock, that hur-”

“No! You don’t know, you have yet to experience thoroughly what it is to be an addict!” He shook her to keep her focus. Watsons face twisted as she began shouting.

“I know Sherlock! I know that want, the need deep in your bones for the next hit. I know the disgusting truth, bodily fluids and all! I’m already the disappointment in my family, my friends all betrayed me so I left them. I am an ADDICT! I have been through it, and I’m going through the consequences now!”

 

Sherlock's heart was beating to fast for him to control his actions as he raised Joan a few inches off the floor. Squeezing her arms enough to leave new bruises.

“ No you haven’t, you have not! Addiction is more than just the want, the need for a fix, it develops into a more frantic state. Addiction is shooting up in the nearest cornerstore bathroom because you simply can not wait any longer. It forces you to invite your dealer to live with you because your money just came in and you will be damned if you have to wait another minute for them to respond to your text. Addiction is crawling around on the floor desperately hoping to find a random pill or a tiny speck of drug you may have dropped on your last high. Addiction makes you show up at your only friends door, incoherent and barely alive. And you're shivering. Violently. Not because you can't wait to get high. It’s mainly because you can’t spend another second rocking back and forth, staring at the clock, wondering how only three minutes have passed. Addiction is impatient, unforgiving and manipulative. Do not test it. If you go in thinking you will stay in control, you will lose. You will never be the same. And Watson I need you to be who you are. I need you, your family needs you, all the people that you have saved, all the people you will save need you  to be Watson the detective, not Joan the druggie.” Sherlock took a deep breath and blinked hard. Tears were streaming down Joan's face as an cold spiky wave of realization washed over him.He slowly set her back onto the floor. She leaned into him as he hugged her. “I’m sorry Joan. But you need to hear this. How about we sleep and when we wake up we will remove all drugs from the brownstone and start again. There's nothing wrong with starting again.” She nodded as he pushed the mattress back onto the frame.

 

There were three kids waiting at Marcus desk when he arrived at the precinct. The oldest one looked to be around 17 years old stood up to greet him. “Hey Detective Bell, I’m Wiggins. Sherlock told me to come down here to help.” His clothes were tattered and smelled of BO.

“Yea he said you would be here,” Bell eyed the other two kids who could not have been over the age of 9. They had eaten all the candies off his desk and were squeezing each others hands as they flinched every time an officer walked passed.” How about I grab the file and we go to the dinner and talk over some sandwiches.” The kids faces brightened up as the stood grabbing hold of Wiggins hoodie.

 

After they ordered Wiggins pulled from his bag an old notebook and a tablet.

“Where did you get a fancy tablet like that?” Bell raised an eyebrow at him.

“I didn’t steal it if that's what you're getting at. Holmes got it for me so we can share information. Now if you are done interrogating can we get on with the case.” Marcus held his hands up apologetically.

“We went to the location that you took the pictures of Joan and the kidnapper. No one in the area seem to know who he was or had even seen him. We put some of our vice workers out that way just incase he comes back to that area. Could you tell me more about what you saw that day?” Wiggins was tapping the tablet when he looked up at Bell.

“Holmes was right you coppers sure are idiots.” Bell rolled his eyes. “ I have been doing some of my own investigating. His name is Ronnie. I knew he looked familiar when I took the pic’s but because of the swelling I couldn’t place where I had seen him before. He use to run with Sherlock's old housemate, back when I first started helping him.”

“This Ronnie was friends with Joan?”

“No, I started working with Holmes when he first got to Brooklyn. He was living with some dude name Oscar.”

“Wait, you mean Oscar Rankin?” Marcus was scratching down notes as Wiggins talked.

“Yea shorter guy, loves drugs. High quality dealer.” He looked at Bell's notebook and smiled. “It's ok detective here.” Wiggins handed Bell his own phone.

“Wait, when did you..”

“I installed google docs on there for you and am now sharing my file.” Marcus opened the app and to his surprise there was a well organized file with pictures and links.

 

The waiter came over and placed a platter of sandwiches and soups down. Wiggins took one and inspected it then handed some to the other two kids. “While you read ill introduce you to my friends here. This is Alex,” Wiggins pointed to the young girl with long cornrows and beads. “And this is Zander.” He pointed to the identical looking boy with a small afro. “They are now part of my crew.” Marcus looked up from his phone and flashed a smile at the two. “They joined us a few days ago when they helped me after Ronnie had his boys jump me. Apparently Ronnie had been at that location for some time and was using Alex and Zander to transport drugs after their mother had an incident, and they were left at the park.”

“You mean to tell me these kids don’t have a legal guardian?”

“No, their mom is alive...just not worth it. So I’m setting them up with my guardian so they are fine.”

“You know I’m going to have to check into this.”

“Yea yea I already told Bobbie you would be calling here is their info.” He handed Bell a card

“How did you gather all this information?”

“Holmes taught me.”

“Okay, I read in your file that Ronnie was dealing some high quality stuff, was it China White?”

“Yea, he was dealing other things but from what I gathered that was his main item. I know that Ronnie did work another job before this to pay for his own habit. I’m also in pursuit of figuring out where he got his bruises from, I was thinking I can go with you to look at his medical info?”

“While I do thank you for all your work and this file, I can’t take you along or share case information with you.”

“What the hell I did all the work here!”

“I know ,but that is why I will give the information to Sherlock because he is contracted with us and he can do whatever he feels is necessary with the information.” Wiggins smiled and nodded before taking all the sandwiches and putting them into his bag along with pulling out a container to put the soups in.

 

After making a few phone calls Marcus received a fax from the Kings County hospital. The file read that he was brought in with “self inflicted wounds” done by a lead pipe and fist. He was high at the time of admit. Sounds like a solid case of I fell into a door knob. The insurance he used was one issued by the city for their workers.

 

Bell took a deep breath as he leaned back in his chair. His phone chimed with a notification.

**Alfredo L: Just dropped off a care package at Holmes place. It sounded like they were       doing okay.**

**Marcus: Thank you for checking in on them, we still on for surprise cookout when Joan’s  out?**

**Alfredo L: No doubt.**

 

As he pocketed his phone he felt a piece of paper. It was the flyer from the other day. A strange sense of familiarity struck him as he stared at the painting on the flyer. He placed it on his desk and began making calls to the insurance companies to find out where exactly Ronnie worked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For any one struggling with drug abuse please get help. 1-800-662-HELP (4357) or visit the online treatment locators and thank you to all the friends out there that help your friends get clean.
> 
> Joan says all white boys lie in chines. (I used google translate, sorry for bad translation)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bell and Wiggins find major clues to the kidnapping, Sherlock and Watson, the struggle is real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this story was going to be three chapters max but look where we are now......

Sherlock woke to three chimes of an email notifications. As he sat up he realized that Watson's leg was sprawled across his chest. She must have shifted in her sleep finding this to be the most comfortable position. He lifted her leg and set it off to the side slowly hoping not to wake her.

 

The first email was from Wiggins saying that Bell would not share information with him and would like Sherlock to pass any information along to him. Wiggins was a very bright kid. There was no doubt in Sherlock's mind that Wiggins could solve who took Watson and where to find him with a little help here or there. He agreed to share all and any information he received from Bell but request Wiggins would share all of his information with himself and he will share it with Bell.

 

The second and third emails were from Bell. Stating that he met with Wiggins and proceed to drone on about the potential the kid has. The other email stated that Wiggins had identified Ronnie Thane as the culprit. And that he previously worked for the city, he believes that he was a sanitation worker before and is looking into the matter. He continued to state how Wiggins told him about the connections between Oscar and Ronnie. And sent a pic of Ronnie's face hoping that Sherlock would recognize him. Unfortunately most of the time Sherlock shared with Oscar were nothing more than a blur.

 

Watson let out a piercing scream causing Sherlock to drop his phone cracking the screen. He rushed over and rolled her onto her side. She was still asleep.At least she would be happy to hear that she was having night terrors, that is a normal reaction to trauma.

 

There were footsteps fastly approaching up the stairs. He leaned out the door to see Ms. Hudson eyes wide with panic. He walked over to her holding his finger to his lip to help keep her from yelling.

“Ms.Hudson thank you for coming to help. Watson was just having a night terror, it's to be expected from a situation like this.” He kept his voice low.

 

“ I’m glad to hear she is doing okay. To think, all that she's been through.The poor thing, tell her if she wants to talk I am always here for her. And i know you're helping her but you better be behaving yourself! Ok, so I have all the rags washed and most of the brownstone cleaned up is there anything I can do to help?” Ms. Hudson rubbed her hands together.

 

“Actually yes. We have already had one relapse and need to do a sweep to make sure all the drugs are out of this room. If you wouldn’t mind helping me check the room, then taking this lock pad and locking us in here.” he flashed a small smile

 

“Why would you need to be locked from the outside? What if there is an emergency?”

 

“We can call someone to come and help, but I left the room once and it was a vast mistake on my end ergo lock us in we can't leave until someone else helps”

 

She stared at him for a minute before tucking a loose hair behind her ear. “Okay I will grab a bag to put anything we can find in.”

 

She turned back down the stairs as Sherlock went into the room and drained the tub. He started at the toilet finding a shot taped to the underside of the top. A small bag of black tar was found in a partially opened tampon. A spoon, several needles and a baggie was found taped underneath the bed. In a loose floorboard there were two baggies of painkillers. Ms.Hudson stood appalled. “How could she have so much and how did she hide all of this from you?!”

 

“Addicts are very sneaky and creative people. And there may have been an hour or two that she was without supervision when she returned from hospital. But I think we have gotten them all. If you would please take this downstairs I will have a officer or Bell come pick it up.”

 

She shook her head and took a step outside of the door. “Are you sure this is what you need?” She said lock in hand

“Yes if you would please leave the key on the fireplace in the study. And again many thanks Ms Hudson.” He gave her a reassuring smile and closed the door.Rubbing his face he began to set up his chemistry set on the computer table, while Watson slept.

 

Wiggins was sitting on a milk crate behind three other young men. He had a bass drum pedal attached to a suitcase and was keeping a steady rhythm. One of the boys had an accordion and the other had a trumpet. His old derby hat was collecting cash fast. Sherlock had taught him that there were hundreds of ways of watching a crowed. But this way the crowd would watch him making it a little easier to spot a face.

 

“Well I went down to St. James Infirmary, and I saw my baby laying there. She was stretched out on a long white table, She was so cold so sweet so fair.” He belted out the lyrics while scanning faces. There we a few people crowding around but he could see threw the gaps at the other faces that passed by.

 

A trip to a few dealers from his past workings with Sherlock and six favors later he was informed there was someone matching Ronnie's description seen working at a thrift shop across from where they were playing. After sending a kid it to purchase a belt he confirmed that Ronnie was in fact in the shop. He had not reported back to Holmes or Bell, wanting to get just a little more information before getting them involved.

 

He played a few more songs before spotting the culprit waltzing out of the shop. He signaled for the trumpet player to take his spot before gathering a few dollars from the hat and set out after Ronnie.

 

There are a few good ways to be completely ignored in New York. One way is to stand for a cause that people are too busy to care about. The other is to be homeless, well at least homeless looking. Wiggins only owned one hoodie, a handful of wife beaters and two pairs of pants. All of them tattered and seldom washed. No one looked him in the eye. Ronnie still had the sling on with a menacing scar going up his face now that the swelling had gone down. He pursued him into the subway holding out his hand to anyone that looked asking for spare change. Keeping his distance he followed Ronnie from one line to another. Until he dashed out of the cart right before the doors closed leaving Wiggins on a six minute ride to Staten island.

 

He sat down in the seat where Ronnie had been and readjusted his laces. There was a small slip of paper attached to a card to that had fallen under the bench he reached for the paper flipping it over finding a black silhouette of a knight piece from a chess board. It had R.T room 2 ½ written on the back. The card was a two of diamonds with a time and date handwritten on it. He stashed away the card and leaned back waiting for the next stop.

 

Bell had inquired to the city about Ronnie's paperwork only to find that he had been fired a few weeks prior. He was caught illegally posting flyers along his route. They sent over his old route and to Bells surprise his own street popped up on the map. He thought back to the conversation he had with the one of the workers a few days ago. That worker must have been the one that replaced Ronnie. Bell grab his keys and headed out to sanitation headquarters.

 

He arrived Just shortly after most of the drivers showed up for their early morning shifts. Bell found Andy the worker from his neighborhood and sat him down along with two other people that worked the same route.

 

“First I would like to thank you all for sparing a moment to talk. Did any of you know this man,” Bell held up a photo of Ronnie from his arrest records. Andy nodded his head

 

“Yea thats the guy that usta work this shift. He got canned though. Is he dead?”

 

“No, we are just trying to track him down for some questions about a kidnapping. Now he stated that his address was the apartments on Bedford, but we checked and he hasn’t been living there for a few months now. Do any of you know where he went or of his wear abouts.”

 

“I don't know where he's at but I know where he might be.” Andy was searching through his bag.

“Um well I guess I musta thrown it out. Nuts, well he was puttin these flyers up for some auction I think it was either for today or tomorrow. Hey can I still press charges against that crazy guy who keeps assaulting me about his dishes, he and his buddies won't drop it.”

Bell licked his lower lip.

“This guy was asking for dishes specifically or did he say china?” Andy scratched absently at the back of his head.

“ Ya know, I think he did. Yea he said it was white and expensive. I don't know what he was on about.”

“I’ll send a couple of officers out that way to help with that. As for the flyer that you mention could you remember anything about it like where the auction was?”

 

“It had a red building on it!” a loud voice came from the woman behind Andy.” Hi I’m Naddia, I worked with Ronnie when he was still here. Yea he was putting those flyers up left and right but they had us take them down after he was let go. There was a painting on it of a red building , I think it was an art auction.”

“Well thank you for your time.” Bell headed back to the precinct where he remembered  he placed the flyer.

 

“It doesn't feel as bad second time around” Watson was talking into the fan that sat on the coffee table. She had not spoken a word to Sherlock sense he yelled at her the other night. He had already spoke to her about him and Hudson cleaning house and that the door was bolted so they could not leave. “Did you happen to bring anything cold like ice cream?”

 

He leaned over from his spot at the desk being careful not to spill any of the beakers and pulled a flav ice from the freezer that was built into the mini fridge. “Do you want red or purple, I call all the orange and blue ones.” he turned over his shoulder to her. He had a clothes pin clamping his nose shut making his voice a thousand times more nasally than before.

 

“I’ll take red please, why do you have a thing on your nose?” she accepted the ice treat and sat back down on the couch.

“You probably can't detect it over your own B.O., but I have been working on making a new perfume that fellow beekeepers may enjoy. It's a creation of my own after sampling some scents off of that Demeter site. A few sprays of this and one could smell of petrichor and beeswax with a hint of poppy.”

 

“Whoa there professor, you might win all of the beekeepers hearts.” She chuckled at her own sarcasm. Sherlock flashed a small smile before returning to his work.

 

A few hours passed by as Joan worked to keep her meds down and spirit up. She had been struggling with finding something to do and ended up doodling in one of Sherlock's journals.She had already drawn him a picture of a cartoon style bee surrounded with abstract honey combs.

 

Sherlock had been too focused on getting the scent of petrichor right he hadn’t notice the day pass bye. Frustrated he turned over to Watson who had apparently drawn on every free page of his notebook and was now making designs on the cover. “How would you feel about trying one of those podcast I had mentioned before? We could put the fan in the window and play a full game of spit while we listen?”  

 

She shifted in her spot for a moment and wiped some sweat off of her forehead. The temperature had dropped into the mid 80’s but the withdrawals were merciless towards her core temperature. “Okay only if I get to choose from your list of podcast, and you can only play with your left hand while laying on your stomach.” she gave him a small smirk knowing that was the only way to make the playing field equal. He tapped a rhythm onto his thigh while bobbing his head in contemplation.

“I can lean on my right elbow and will only use my left hand.” She moved the fan to the window and grabbed the deck of cards from its box on the floor.

”Deal!”

 

It was already well into the early morning as they reached the fourth story in the podcast. Out of the ones Sherlock was interested in this was the only one that wasn't about conspiracy theories or murder mysteries.  “Waiting for the bus in the rain in the rain…” Sherlock whispered under his breath as the flipped the cards as fast as he could with his left hand. Watson placed two cards down quickly as she struggled to flip over a new card. Sherlock smiled as he slapped his three of clubs down and shouted spit before claiming his pile. Watson, visible frustrated and tired gave up and laid on top of the cards and Sherlock's hand that was frantically trying to lay the cards out.

 

“I think Cecil and Carlos should be a couple. Also I never want to live in a small desert community.” She leaned up a few inches from Sherlock's face. “Never.” He gave her a dirty look and pulled his hand from under her rib causing her to wince in pain.

 

“Sorry, I am going to assume that this means I won and yes a desert community where time doesn't work sounds like a horrible place to live. But I am not going to get into a debate about which fictional characters would be the greater couple, though I do see a good story in Steve Carlsburg and Tully.” He rubbed his eyes and stood up. “Well Watson you have gone just shy of another twenty four hours clean, how do you feel?” She rolled onto her back and watched him walk over to the toilet.

“I still feel like absolute shit. I am glad that your miracle whatever is working out well, but I still feel the cravings for just a little more.” She sat up and began to put the cards into a pile. Looking anywhere but at her friend urinating in the corner. She waited for him to finish before clearing her throat. “Does this ever go away, the craving? I know thats what group is for but when does it stop becoming the only thing on your mind?”

 

He washed his hands and came back over to where she sat. “It takes a while but it slowly proceeds to the back of your mind, where it mostly stays dormant until triggers or something reminds you of it. Then it asserts itself to the number one thing on your mind.”

“What uh what made you use last time? Was it just something Oscar said or was it the places he brought you?” he sat searching her face, sniffled and sat up straight.

 

“It wasn’t seeing the life again or even being around others using. I have you to thank for that Joan. Thinking of what you would say if I were to give in at the sight of heroin. It wasn’t Oscar ether. Nothing that miscreant could say would make me move to do anything. No, it was the thought of losing another friend and it being my fault. Watson, I have made but a small handful of friends in my many years.” Sherlock's eyes were fixed to a spot on the aged wallpaper.

 

“After you told me you were my friend I realized I might be able to have friends. So I worked hard to get a few and keep them. It's difficult for me. I can tell you someone's occupation and location of their job by the way they stand and shoes they wear, but I can not tell you what friends do during a sleepover. I can tell you what I have read about, but not what I have experienced. It is the utmost truth when I say I have worked hard to get a friend, a good one. One that actually likes me and wants to stay with me.” His face contorted as he looked to the ground.

 

“And someone hurt them. Stole them from me and almost killed them. Because of me. It was a mixture of self pity and a strong hatred for myself for putting anyone in that situation. That I thought if I used now it wouldn’t matter I have just lost my friend, ALfredo would want nothing to do with me after this. And you, you would not feel safe around me anymore, this would have been the last straw. So I thought, staring down at that box that I could rid myself of the friends that I don’t deserve. They can go on without me and they would never have to deal with the consequences of being my friend.” He was fiddling with the edge of the rug and looked back up at Watson.

 

“ I used because I was scared and angry, I didn’t want to exist. It was the very same reasons I started using regularly in the first place.” He looked her in the eyes. “But this time I was able to stop because of our bond that we have. I am ashamed that I thought I could rid you in the first place. And for that I am sorry.”

 

Watson sat up and leaned on him. “Well it's going to take a hell of a lot more for you to lose me Sherlock, I mean really a relapse and some mean words. Remember we have a bond. A James bond ,pet detective.” Sherlock looked over at her, eyebrows raised in confusion. A small wave of embarrassment washed over him. It would be very unlikely that Watson would remember any of this, but it felt good to get it out.

“Did you use when I was working on the scents?”

“No, I'm just uncomfortable and tired. I am a little hungry though. Do you have anything besides cereal and donuts?”

 

“We’ve got pb&j and some lunchables there some graham crackers and saltines with sardines. And a lot of cold soup.” Sherlock watched her try to focus on a decision.

 

“Cold soup.”

 

“Mmmm cold soup.” Sherlock nodded as he took a can of mushroom soup out of a bag.

“Eww Sherlock no, that was sarcasm. I’ll take a lunchable.”

 

After the small meal Watson wasn’t able to keep down they both lay on the bed with the fan on them and the window open for hope of a cool breeze. “It's days like this that I miss the cold gloom of England.” Sherlock took the Flav-ice he was using as an ice pack and placed it on his neck. Before handing Watson some more pills. They had the podcast playing again while they tried their best to cool down from the now 90 degree weather.

 

“Let's go later” She mumbled as she tossed the pillow out from under her. “Let's go to that place on your arm. What's so good about that place that you had to get it on your arm?” He chuckled at her. Watson wits were good enough to go against his own. But on DXM she might as well have the mindset of a high school freshman. “Kingston upon Thames is where My mum and I would go when father was off at work and Mycroft was busy at school. We would have fun just the two of us. They have a park there I think you would like. Very big full of things to see and do.”

 

Watson's foot was on his knee and her head was pressed against the wall. “I think I would have liked your mom.” He couldn’t help but smile at the memories of his mother. And the thought of Joan and his mom at Richmond park together. Watson had begun vomiting into her bucket again. Her shivering came back with great force. She yelled threw her teeth as she squeezed her fist so tight that she began to draw blood. Sherlock sat up and forced her hands open as she pressed into his chest. She took a deep breath and laid on her side with him still holding onto her. After a half hour the pills kicked in and she began to sleep still holding onto his hands.

  
  


Marcus got to the precinct and found the flyer. The auction start time was two hours ago. He rushed to his car and made his way to the site hoping that it would not be over just yet. The amount of security was somewhat alarming for a public auction. There were only a few rows of chairs mostly older folk a few students and couples were scattered round. In the front there were a strange gaggle of well suited men.

 

He took a seat in the back and watched the crowd. “Next up is item six. Original oil painting by prisoner 1891. Now this would go well with her other oil works such as impeccable duplicates of several Rembrandt's and one Dali. We will start the bidding at eight hundred dollars….”

 

Marcus sat straight with his mouth ajar. It was Her paintings. He took out his phone and called Sherlock only to get his answering machine. He quickley got up from his seat and made his way to the back room after having to flash his badge a few times. The head of the auction rushed to meet him.

“Hi I’m Osric head of this auction how can I help you detective.” he brushed his dark hair down and straightened his vest.

“How did you acquire these paintings?” Marcus now felt like Sherlock as he was swaying from one foot to the other.

“All the works were donated from our employees, clients or prisoners. All the providence have been checked and cleared. I can draw the paperwork if need be” He turned to a guard sitting by the work.

“No that won't be necessary. Do you have the name of prisoner 1891?”

“Yes, umm bear with me.” Marcus kept trying to reach Sherlock while he waited.

“Ah yes it would belong to a Ms. Jamie Moriarty.”

“And do you know of her current location? Who authorized having any of her work available to the public?”

“Well it's not as though it has any obscenities on them, but the prison was granted some of her art to help pay for her stay. I was told that she said they could have all but two paintings.”

“Damn it can you stall before you make the final transactions of these.”

“Sure may I ask why”

“Sorry I can't say until we know for sure. Also do you guys know where she is currently located?”

“We are not aloud to give out that information without a warrant, but I can tell you she was just sent to a new facility with a new security company.”

“Thank you.”

Bell called in for a warrant to confiscate the paintings to make sure there are no hidden messages.

 

After a hour wait Bell had his warrant and was gathering all of her work when an officer brought a small sculpture to his attention. It was a Venus De Milo but with what appeared to be two diamond earrings in. He began to turn the sculpture over when it cracked into two at the figures waist.Inside was a piece of canvas with numbers painted onto it.

  
  


I    22   27                         II   5,8,13,21,34,

      32   27   68

      27    51  5

 

Odds and Evens double by two The glass is half empty never half full.

III   10     8      6                          IV     30  28   27

       42     38    34                                16         24

       90            102                               18   21  22

  
  
  
  


Sherlock had rolled onto his back with his arms folded atop his chest. There was a small scraping noise that stirred him in his sleep. A sudden pressure of significant weight crushed onto his chest. He began to squirm while blinking his eyes rapidly trying to focus his eyes. A stretch of duck tape covered his mouth as something hit him in the chest causing him to let out all his air threw his nose. Another hand grab his nostrils stopping him from breathing. He blinked the last bit of sleep out of his eyes to see Watson sitting on top of him she leaned in closely with a smile on her face, her eyes were sleepy as she shushed him.

“You can thank Clyde for being so good at holding on to this for me. She stuck a vile between her fingers as Sherlock felt her unplug one of his nostrils he inhaled deeply not knowing when he would be able to take another breath. The air rushing to give his brain oxygen was coated with some powder that was in a vile she had shoved into his nose. She covered his nose back up. And flashed a half opened smile at him letting some of her drool hit his neck. “There now you won't feel the shitty cravings either."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Wiggins was singing is -https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LJS17BNKcYM
> 
> Spit is a card game here is how to play-https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VoOT0nKuZIE
> 
> the podcast they listened to was Welcome to Nightvale
> 
> To anyone that can figure out the math and what the note Bell found means. Before I post the next Chapter and post it in the comments I will personally draw you any scene elementary related for you.


End file.
